AU: The TG Virus
by INzaneTJ
Summary: Newt is sent to an alternate universe where he is the Greenie, and subordinate to Winston. When a new Greenie is sent in the Box, the Gladers discover the boy is infected with a deadly virus, and only two Shanks are immune, but they carry it as well, putting all their lives in danger. WICKED has a variable for them, TG. T for death, and some blood due to the virus.
1. Chapter 1: The Greenie's Arrival

Chapter 1

The Greenie's Arrival

**A/N: Hi! This FF is going to be sad, but rest assured, everyone remains alive in the other alternate universe. :)**

It's a strange feeling, lying on something soft, with a pillow underneath a weary head in the hard life of the Glade. The light brown, cotton sheets bundle around a young boy in his mid-teens, who draws a blanket tighter to his thin frame.

His sandy, blond hair is in a mess of knots, but it doesn't bother him. In thirty seconds comes the Wake Up, and then another grueling day to farm…and then he has to welcome the next Greenie. Finally, someone else Chuck can bother with his chatter.

The loud, rhythmic bang of metal clashing startles the boy, and he shoots up to a sitting position, revealing dark, brown eyes. He is in the Homestead, of course, but why? He _always_ sleeps outside.

The weather in the Glade never changes, being warm and sunny. The boy mutters something about how he must have slept walk again, and swings his legs over the left side of the bed.

Once his bare feet come in contact with the floor, a dull ache slips its way into his ankle. He rolls his eyes, fed up with his constant limp from that incident with the Griever that nearly killed him.

The clash of metal erupts again, and he stands up, covering his ears.

He exits the empty room, throwing the door open. The sound comes from the stairs below, from someone with a death wish.

"Alright, now which bloody Shank—" The boy is interrupted by more loud bangs as a muscular, African American shows up, smashing two pot lids against each other.

"Newt, why aren't you out eating? Wake Up was ten minutes ago!" the dark-skinned boy exclaims.

"What time is it?" the nettled blond replies calmly, "Alby, I'm right on time. Why are you messing with two of Frypan's lids? He's gonna kill you."

Alby's brows furrow in confusion.

"Newt, look. I know losing Frypan was hard. I'm sorry, but we need to move on. Besides, these are my lids for the Wake Up, remember?"

"Hang on," Newt says, and raises his pale hands, "Don't you go, and play a bloody prank on me. Frypan wouldn't let ya use those. I wake up early. Let's just go."

He moves past Alby, and descends the unstable, creaking stairs with the leader right at his heels.

Newt exits the building, and heads to an unoccupied picnic table where a plate of potatoes, and green beans are. He attacks the food as his friend plops down across from him.

"What do ya think?" Alby asks.

"About what?" Newt responds while shoveling a heap of greens in his mouth.

Like order, the boy also makes sure to get the proper nutrition for his body.

"The Greenie."

Newt shrugs. "Nothing. Let's just hope he isn't another Slopper. We need a Builder, or Track-Hoe."

"Speaking of which, that machete yesterday was a little too close to your head, wasn't it?"

Newt finishes his food, and takes a swing of his water.

"What brick?" he asks, certain he wasn't involved with the Runners recently. He didn't miss being one of them either.

"Ya know? The machete Chuck took from Gally as a prank. The Shank did not like that. Kid's lucky the Runner didn't throw him the Slammer," Alby says.

"No, I wish I had seen that. Gally must've been ticked, but what's a Builder doing with a machete anyway?" Newt replies as he clears the table, bringing the plate to Jack who is wearing an apron.

"Wait, since when did you cook?"

Jack looks from Newt to Alby, appearing to be confused. "He's the replacement," the latter tells him.

"What? But why?" Newt asks, "Everyone loves Frypan's cooking."

"Are you seriously asking me that? A dead guy can't work," Jack mutters, and walks away.

Newt rolls his eyes again. What is it with everyone this morning? He heads for the gardens, and spots Zart with the Track-Hoes sweating, working their butts off. "Morning," he says as he passes the guy.

"Morning," Zart responds. "Slicers run out of helpers again? I got Gary available over there."

"Ya think I'd know?"

"You are the Keeper, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I cut little pigs every day, and you're a Bagger watching to make sure I'm not breaking any rules," Newt responds, throwing as much sarcasm as possible into the comment.

Before he can walk away, the boy grabs him by the shoulder, and squeezes.

"Sorry," he mutters, and returns to work, "Chris said no one can take a day off."

"When did Chris ever tell us what to do?" Newt asks, "Thanks, but I don't need a day off."

Zart exchanges glances with a brunette girl. Wait, a girl? Newt does a double take, and points at her. "Is she our Greenie?"

"Huh? Me?" the girl asks, tucking a strand of curly, brown hair behind her ear.

"Newt, I've been here for three shuck months."

"No, I've never seen a girl in the Glade before. What's your name?"

"Emily. You okay?" the girl says, her brown eyes darting back and forth, looking anywhere but the cute blond.

"Yeah. How'd you know my name?" Newt asks.

"Uh, you're the one who's the Greenie that survived in the Maze two weeks ago. Who doesn't know you?"

"Okay, I've had enough of this bloody prank. Who is this girl?" Newt grabs her by the arm, and pulls her off the soil onto the grass.

Emily wrenches away, and glares daggers at the boy.

"Newt, come on. Are you sure you're okay?" Gary asks, stepping between the two.

"Look, I know it's hard. I'm sorry. Just go back with the Slicers. They need ya." He punches Newt's arm.

"Quit your bloody prank and explain," Newt snaps, frustrated they won't admit it. "What is your bloody problem?"

"Whoa! Hey, please. What prank?" Gary responds.

"Just tell me before I run out of patience. Ya Shanks aren't funny."

"What prank?" Emily asks.

As the last word leaves her mouth, the Newbie alarm goes off, startling everyone except the conversation can continue, everyone heads to the Box, anticipating the next Greenie.

"I bet he'll be one ugly Shank," Minho whispers to Newt as the blond pushes past the boys.

"Hey," Alby says, motioning to Newt, "You wanna do the honors?"

"Thanks ma'am." Newt responds, and grabs the rope his friend hands him. He throws it down. "Climb up, Greenie. We don't bite."

Everyone waits a few seconds, wondering, but there is no movement on the other end.

"Greenie? Ya there?" No response. Newt mutters something, and hands the end of the rope to Alby.

"I'm getting the Shank. Maybe he's asleep." He climbs down with ease, and limps toward a figure in grey and brown huddled in the corner of the Box, his back facing the blond.

Newt steps on something sticky as he shakes the boy gently.

"Hey, Greenie. Wake up."

No response. He rolls the kid on his side, and promptly backs away.

"What the—"

**A/N: Please review, and have a fantastic day/night!**


	2. Chapter 2: Thomas, the Greenie

**A/N: Thank you May a Chance, and AsgardianGrizzly for reviewing! :) When WICKED is not in bold, it means a skip in time.**

Chapter 2

Thomas, the Greenie

The boy's bloodshot eyes are open wide, a sickly pale mouth agape with dried blood caking his face. His arms are crossed tight, body trembling.

"Hey, are you okay?" Newt probes, approaching slowly.

The boy shoots up into a sitting position, and puts both skinny hands up.

"Don't come any closer!" he warns, his voice weak, and raspy.

"Okay," Newt says, and stops in his tracks, hands in a defensive position, "Then, could ya tell me your name?"

"Thomas. If you're going to kill me, do it now. You don't want TG," the boy with brown hair responds.

"TG? What the bloody is that?" Newt asks, ignoring the part about killing the guy.

Thomas puts his right hand to his mouth, and then lets it rest on his lap. He opens his mouth to speak, but the first thing that comes out is blood. Lots of blood is expelled, and spit all over Newt.

"What's happening down there?" a low, concerned voice rises among many others.

Thomas falls forward on his face, hands automatically stopping his fall, and pukes again. The tremors from his body, and his mannerisms tell Newt plenty, but not enough.

"I don't know. Let's just say things are a little bloody," the blond replies, backing away from the guy a second time.

"Are you okay?"

Admittedly, Newt isn't certain, for whatever this Greenie has, it's not too good.

"No, I'm not sure. Nobody come down here. Alby take a look over the edge of the Box. Don't get too close."

After some scuffles, a baldhead appears, peering over the edge. "Holy—did he attack ya?"

"No, he threw up tons of blood."

Newt clenches his sticky fists, and turns to face his friend, wondering if he will survive. Thomas must be infected with something, or maybe he has internal bleeding from a hard impact—he only hopes it's the latter.

"Shucks!" Alby swears under his breath. "Is he sick, or does he have a wound?"

"I don't know," Newt responds, now thoroughly scared.

"Check his stomach."

Newt's dark eyes widen, and he almost shakes his head, but he stops himself. He needs to do it.

Maybe the kid is injured. Newt approaches the weak boy again as Thomas rolls onto his back, and lifts his grey, long-sleeve shirt up.

There is a red splotch like a rash on his ribcage, and dark veins snake their way up his skin. A huge bruise is on his side, convincing Newt he is injured.

"It's an injury. Get the Med Jacks," he announces.

Alby nods, and yells for the only doctors in the Glade as Newt helps Thomas lean against the wall.

Inside, the blond is relieved, because if that had been a virus, who knows what would have happened? An epidemic in the Glade would be difficult to deal with, for sure, and cost the lives of many.

A hand grabs Newt's ankle, and the boy turns to face this mysterious Greenie

"Don't touch anyone, ever. We're all going to—"

Thomas doesn't finish, and passes out cold.

WICKED

Newt shuts the door where Thomas is sleeping with Clint right behind him. "Is he gonna be okay?"

Clint averts his gaze, and fidgets with the edge of his coat.

"I don't know, but let me tell you something. He doesn't have internal bleeding."

"What do ya mean?" Newt asks, trying to mask his fear at the news.

Clint bites his bottom lip while glancing around the room as if scared that someone will hear them. He then looks Newt square in the eyes, his blue ones unreadable. "I'm pretty sure it's an illness, or virus."

Newt stares back, his stomach twisting into knots as the sickening thought hits him.

"Really?" he says, and swallows over a lump in his throat. "Doesn't that mean I'll get it too? Is it life-threatening?"

Clint shakes his head. "Probably not."

Newt isn't so sure about the whole thing, and starts walking away. "Just go and see Winston. He needs ya there," Clint says.

_Why is everyone talking about the Slicers_, Newt wonders as he heads down the stairs with a creak beneath his shoes. He throws a glance over his shoulder, and smiles for the first time this morning.

"I will."

Newt makes it to the Slicers in time to see Winston cutting off the head of a pig, the body handing from a meat hook. "What do ya need?" Newt asks, not grossed out in the slightest.

Winston stops, and his head snaps to the side to face the blond.

"Shouldn't I be asking ya that? Where have ya been?"

"Excuse me?"

"You were supposed to cut up the piggy first thing. I know you're upset at what happened yesterday, but that won't cut it."

Winston grabs the pig head, and sets it on the cutting board of the messy cutting board. He turns to face the confused, and nettled boy, and reaches for a carving knife off the counter.

"Look, just tell me what ya need. I don't need any bloody pranks right now," Newt responds, crossing his arms.

Winston sets the knife back where it was, and gives his subordinate an incredulous look.

"I'm your Keeper. You do as you're told, Shank."

"Guess what, I'm a Keeper, and second in command. Keep slicing your pigs. I don't have time for this." Newt heads for the door, but Winston grabs his arm.

"Keep it up, and I'll get the Baggers to bring your Shuck butt to the Slammer for insubordination," the Slicer says.

"Hands off. I think a buggin Griever got to your head."

Newt pries Winston's hand off, and exits the building, irritation evident in his face. A Bagger nearby gives a nod of the head as he passes as the Slicer follows him.

"Shuck-face, ya got one more chance before your butt goes in the Slammer."

Newt turns to the Bagger.

"What's wrong with the Shank?" he asks, and then faces acne-covered Winston.

"Look, ya need to just back off. Ya don't need me ta tell ya what Alby'll do if I tell him. Are we clear?"

Winston shakes his head, and points to the Bagger. "I want him in the Slammer."

The Bagger promptly grabs Newt's arm. "Let go, or else I'm gonna make ya," the latter warns, his voice laced with anger.

The Bagger remains still, and pulls to move him, but Newt shoves him off. He walks away, heading for the Gardens a little away from here.

"What is everyone's shuck problem today?"

And then it hits him like a bag of bricks, what happened yesterday.


	3. Chapter 3: Alternate Universe

**A/N: Thank you May a Chance for reviewing! :)**

Chapter 3

Alternate Universe

**Flashback:**

"So, what are ya thinking about?" Chuck asks after chattering away at the picnic table. Newt ignores him, and digs into the remains of his dinner with a fork.

"Well?"

"Nothing, I'm eating," Newt responds while chewing with his mouth open. The younger kid faces away, not exactly fond of watching people slop their food.

Newt clears the table, and leaves to go up the Homestead to check on Ben, a boy going through the Changing. Chuck follows him until they reach the stairs, and the older boy turns to him.

"Don't go up there," he says, and then ascends, each wooden stair creaking beneath his weight.

A scream erupts from the room to his right as he reaches the top step. The board snaps, and Newt finds himself in the air, dropping.

A kid calls his name. He involuntarily shuts his eyes, bracing for impact.

**End of Flashback:**

Newt opens his eyes, and finds himself sprawled on cold stone, his back aching. His arms are spread horizontally, and one knee is up. In front of him is a crudely made, wooden grate used for the Slammer.

_Great, I must've passed out_, he thinks, and notices an Asian face on the other side of his little prison. Minho.

"You shucked this up big time," he says.

"I did nothing bloody wrong," Newt protests, "Why are you locking me up in his hole?"

"What is _your _problem, Shuck-face? You've got to follow the Keeper," Minho snaps.

Newt can't believe this. He grabs the bars, and gets right in the nettled Runner's face.

"My problem? _My _problem?" he repeats.

"Just let me out of the bloody Slammer, and I'll pretend you didn't prank me. I've got lots of work to do. The shuck Med Jacks need help with Ben."

"You're cracked Shank. Long cracked," Minho responds, a look of distain on his face.

"Cracked? Minho, you wait till I get out, and I'll break your—"

Before he can finish his sentence, Minho reaches past the bars, and snatches him by the shirt.

"How did you know my name?" he demands, slamming the smaller teen against the wood.

Newt grabs onto the Keeper's arm, and pries him off easily.

"Minho, that's enough! What's your shuck problem?"

"How do you know me?"

"Um…we all are Keepers. We have Gatherings. We're friends, or used to be until you just shucked things up."

Newt shifts his weight, absently favoring his bad leg. To Newt's surprise, and discomfort, Minho says nothing, simply staring at him with those dark, piercing eyes.

"How's your leg?" he finally ventures to ask after a few moments.

Newt wants to punch him for that being the first thing to come from his mouth.

"Fine. At least you're acknowledging knowing me."

"I didn't say that, Shank. I don't. You're lucky you're getting one day only," Minho says, and then leans closer to the entrance, face pressed against the wooden bars.

"Trust me. Go along with it," he whispers, low enough Newt barely hears him.

Minho wouldn't do this for fun, so something must be going on.

"Shut your hole! I don't want to hear you!" Newt yells, but his face betrays him.

Minho nods, holding up a finger, and takes off, running toward the Homestead. Newt sighs, and leans back on his haunches, his head burning and body aching.

He feels a fever coming on, and pushes the thoughts of Thomas's illness away.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's not a bloody virus," he mutters.

WICKED

"Finally, what took you so long?" Jeff exclaims as the Keeper of the Runners bounds up the stairs.

_Seriously, does this guy lose any energy? He runs everywhere, _he thinks.

Minho reaches him, and nods while crossing his arms.

"Ya need ta see the Shank for yourself," he says. "He's got a shuck problem with head."

Jeff frowns, and glances over his shoulder where through a crack in the door he can see Clint feeding a sick Ben. He looks back at the Runner, and nods.

"I'll talk to him. We need his help with the Stung Builder. Ya mind taking over for me?"

"Okay," Minho responds, and hands Jeff the keys.

He passes the Med Jack, and enters the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Jeff descends the stairs, his footsteps quick and silent despite the unstable steps.

He jogs to the Slammer right next to the Homestead, and peers inside. It takes him a moment for him to spot Newt huddled in the back right corner, apparently asleep.

The boy opens his lids, revealing glazed, brown eyes, and he sits up.

"What do ya want?" Newt asks.

"Did Minho visit ya?" Jeff replies.

"Yeah." Newt rings his pale hands, slicked with sweat, and avoids the Med Jack's gaze. He looks rather ill to Jeff.

"What's your job—in the Glade?"

"What kind of bloody—"

"Just answer the question," Jeff cuts him off. "What's your job in the Glade?"

"Med Jack."

Jeff's brows crease in immediate concern, but he tries to hide it. "How long have you been here?"

"Why are asking me these obvious questions?" Newt asks, eyeing the Med Jack strangely.

"Just answer the shuck questions. If ya get them right, I'll let ya out."

Newt sighs, and reaches for his ankle, rubbing it absently. "This is bloody—two years."

"Who is the leader of the Glade?"

"Alby."

Jeff bites his bottom lip, and massages his temples for a moment before continuing. "How long have ya known Minho?"

"Since we woke up in the Glade."

"How did Frypan die?"

"He never did." Jeff winces at how inaccurate the answers are, his concern increasing.

"What's Gally's job?"

"Builder."

"How did you hurt your leg?"

Newt's head snaps up, and he gives Jeff a hard, cold stare. He turns away from the Med Jack, shrinking away from him. "When I was a Runner, a bloody Griever almost got me."

Jeff slams a hand against the entrance, startling Newt. "Shucks!" he whispers sharply, and then speaks up. "Do ya have amnesia or something, Shank? Ya can't even remember how ya bummed your leg."

"What?" Newt exclaims, his voice sounding incredulous as he turns to face Jeff.

"Ya think I don't bloody know how? Hey, Jeff. There's a roach by your foot."

The Med Jack lets out a frightened shriek, and leaps away from the Slammer, glancing around the grass to look for the insect. There is none.

Jeff mutters something under his breath, and looks up at Newt.

"That wasn't funny, Shank. I screamed like a sissy, and you were there—" he says, but stops short. Newt is on huddled the floor again, snoring peacefully like an infant.

"Whoa, what the heck is wrong with him?" Jeff whispers.

He promptly unlocks the Slammer door, and opens it in a hurry, at the boy's side in two paces. He shakes Newt's bony shoulder roughly, concern at its peak.

"Hey, are you okay, Shank? Newt?" He touches the blond teen's forehead with the back of his hand, and his mouth drops agape.

"Stubborn Shank!" he hisses, and leaves the Slammer, heading toward the Homestead to get Minho's help.

**A/N: Thank you to anyone who reads this FF, and please review! My updates tend to be sporadic because of my _favorite_ thing: school, but I will try to write for this more often. I'm currently working on a novel for a trilogy, so that also takes up most of my free time.**

**And thank you to AzzgardianGrizzly who suggested the amnesia question by the Med Jack!**

**Have a shucking awesome day/night! :D**

**Julia**


	4. Chapter 4: First Signs

**A/N: Thank you Akiho4, May a Chance, Guest, and MistyStar123 for your shucking wonderful reviews! I can't thank you enough! :) We'll be getting into the brunt of the story soon, with action and friendship! ;)**

Chapter 4

First Signs

Ben has been sleeping rather peacefully. Why Jeff had urgently requested to take care of him is beyond Minho.

Then again, he isn't a Med Jack, so maybe there is a legitimate reason. Speaking of which, Jeff bursts through, disrupting the Runner's train of thought. The scared look on his face almost makes Minho wonder if he saw a Griever, but obviously, he wouldn't be standing here if he did.

"What's the matter?"

"You need to come outside and help me. That kid," Jeff points to the door, "has something wrong, like the Greenie, but it's _weirder_."

"What do ya mean?" Minho asks, his initial concern about Thomas's "illness" increasing as both head out the door.

"You'll see."

Once outside, Minho breaks into a jog toward the Slammer, curiosity and dread momentarily replacing concern. He reaches it, and his mouth goes slightly agape, more out of irritation than anything else. He turns back to face Jeff, who just arrives.

"Did ya lock the door when ya left?"

"Um…about that—shucks!" Jeff hisses when he sees the unoccupied Slammer with an open door.

"Let's go look for him."

Someone taps Minho's shoulder from behind. He turns to look, and finds Newt staring at him, arms crossed, subtly leaning on his good leg.

"Where did ya go? You were told ta stay put."

"I didn't do anything wrong. Besides, Jeff told me if I answered his questions right, I could leave," Newt responds indignantly.

Minho looks him over. The only thing out of the ordinary is how pale and sweaty he is. Maybe the Med Jack needs some real sleep.

"We need to talk. Gentlemen, would ya care to sit down?" Jeff requests.

Newt rolls his eyes, and plops on the grass. Minho sits cross-legged next to him, and folds his hands in his lap.

Jeff is on his haunches in front of them, brows creased, worry evident in his fidgety mannerisms.

"Tell Minho what you said to me: about the Glade."

"Seriously, this is bloody—"

Jeff cuts him off by raising his hand.

"Tell him. It's important. It might involve the sick Greenie we got."

Newt sighs, not exactly thrilled to be retelling something _everyone_ knows, or so he thinks. But he does.

After the story is over, Minho and Jeff exchange glances.

"Okay…I see what ya meant."

"What does this have to do with Tommy?" Newt asks ignoring the strange look the Med Jack gives him/

Jeff turns to Minho, "First the Greenie, and then this."

"Amnesia, or a disease? There's no such thing as a virus in the Glade that makes ya not only forget things, but remember different ones. This is not The Hunger Games with high jacking either," the Runner says.

"It's got to be the Creators," Jeff adds, "Newt, when we're ya—what the heck?"

Newt has fallen asleep again, snoring peacefully on the ground. Minho shakes him lightly on the shoulder, but with no response, he does it harder.

"Newt? Wake up, Shank. It ain't time ta sleep."

Newt stirs, and his brown eyes snap open. He shoots into a sitting position, knocking skulls with the Runner, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"It's them. This is a bloody variable!" Newt exclaims, lifting part of his sleeve to show the other boys.

Some of his veins have darkened, and a huge, purple bruise covers his entire left bicep.

"What do ya mean?" Minho demands, rubbing his forehead where he was hit.

"The bloody Creators did it. It's the TG virus," Newt responds, his face paling even more, if possible, a scared look in his eyes.

"Lock me up. Keep everyone who hasn't been exposed away. They want us to find a cure."

"What? How did you know that?" Minho asks, standing up along with Jeff.

"What virus?"

"Thomas sent it to me. Two Gladers are immune. People are gonna—" Newt stops himself, and covers his mouth with both hands.

"What? What's the shuck problem?"

A choking sound fills Newt's throat and Minho grabs his shoulder, shaking him.

"Newt, what are you—" This time, Minho stops when he sees the blood seeping from between the blonde's fingers.

"Shucks!" the Keeper hisses.

He is infected.

**A/N: I will try to update at least once a week (just say thank you to school for me :P) as long as I don't get: hit by a car, punished from the computer, attacked by a nutcase, die, or anything awful unexpected in life. *clears throat* Not funny...but true unfortunately.**

**Anyway, thank you for reading, and please review! Have an awesome day/night! :)**

**Julia ^_^**


	5. Chapter 5: Red Day

**A/N: Thank you AsgardianGrizzly, and May a Chance for your awesome reviews! Disclaimer: I do not own TMR, or its characters. I wish I owned Newt! :)**

**Credit goes to May a Chance for the coughing symptom! :)**

Chapter 5

Red Day

Alby gets out of his chair, and turns to face all of the Keepers. He momentarily glances at the empty seat where Newt would have been, and clears his throat.

"Fellow Keepers, I'm sure everyone present is aware of the incident involving our Greenie yesterday. Coughing, throwing up blood, and stuff. I've requested a Gathering here today to discuss an important matter. It involves the safety of everyone."

He pauses, considering whether or not to drop the formalities.

"Anyway, Thomas was near Newt when he puked. Now he's infected. We suspect there is a virus being spread in the Glade, thanks to our mysterious, unconscious Greenie. I expect you know the rules our leader has set down."

Alby resumes his seat, and Chris takes his place, a dark haired, dark-eyed boy appearing to be slightly older than he. Personally, the former has secret misgivings about the entire system, and leader.

"Are you implying that Newt is infected, and could potentially cause harm?" Chris inquires, folding his tanned hands.

"Theoretically, yes. But I was speaking of the Greenie being a carrier."

"And what do propose we do about it?"

"I say we just lock their butts in the Slammer. Let em both die. Then the virus will stop," Jack adds without being permitted to speak.

"Jack, how many times do I need to tell ya, wait for your turn?"

Chris raises his thick eyebrows, and stares the kid down.

"Sorry, okay? Whatever," Jack mutters the last word.

"Minho, what's your suggestion?" Chris asks, turning to face the silent Keeper in the corner of the room. All eyes fall on him.

"Keep the infected away, and find a cure," Minho responds dryly.

"That's shuck—"

Minho shoots out of his chair, and glares daggers at Jack, who promptly shuts his mouth.

"I wasn't done talking. Prior to taking Newt into the Homestead, he told Jeff, and me that this was a variable from our wonderful Creators. They want us to find the cure."

Silence fills the room. Someone coughs, and Winston raises a hand as Minho sits down.

"How would he know that?"

"He fell asleep while we were talking, and then woke up, talking some shuck virus. TG. I don't know what it means. It could be like the Changing stuff—regaining memories or something. Shucks, is anything too weird here to believe?"

"Well, let's all take a vote. Alby, since you called us here, you first," Chris responds after a moment of contemplation.

"I say we follow Minho's plan."

"Jack."

"I have nothing against Newt, but I'm sticking to mine," Jack says.

"Zart, the Fart."

"Minho's," the Keeper of the Track-Hoes replies.

_There's still eight more to go, including Chris. I hope they don't let Newt die, cause I won't let that happen_, Alby thinks.

WICKED

A group of Baggers enter the Homestead, followed by Alby as Clint exits Newt's room. His patient keeps nodding off every few minutes, and then waking up.

"Why am I not in the Slammer yet?" the blond asks as he spots the Med Jack.

Clint maintains what he considers a _safe distance_, his brows creased, hands clutching a leather bag.

"Sorry, Shank. They had a Gathering. Baggers are taking ya to the Slammer, and they need to decide whether or not to throw you off the Cliff with Thomas."

"Here."

Clint removes a knife from the bag, and tosses it across the room. The weapon hits the floor, rolling to a stop at the bedside, next to Newt's shoes.

"I don't know what good it'll do but make sure no one—"

Someone knocks on the door.

Newt picks up the knife, and slips it in his pocket, his loose shirt perfect for covering the bulge. Just as he lies back down on the bed, Alby enters, followed by five Baggers.

The blond opens his eyes—under the pretense he is waking up—and rubs them with a yawn to accompany the act. No one would notice.

His skin is paler than the white clouds outside, and is lathered in sweat. His shirt is stained with red splotches.

"You need to come with us to—"

Newt holds up a hand, and pushes himself off the bed with a minor degree of difficulty.

"I know. Don't come near me," he responds.

Alby nods, making way for him to exit along with the others. Newt goes through a coughing fit for a few moments.

Jeff enters the scene in time for the blonde's anemic legs to give way beneath him. The Med Jack rushes in the room, and catches the boy by the armpits.

"Jeff, are you crazy? You're gonna get infected," one of the Baggers hisses.

Jeff helps Newt to his feet, giving him support, the blonde's right arm around his shoulders.

"I got ya," he whispers, ignoring everyone as he directs his patient out the room.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves. It ain't the Shank's fault."

Once at the Slammer, Jeff helps Newt onto the floor—the only piece of furniture is a chair with uneven legs, which wouldn't be exactly comfortable—and exits.

Alby shuts the door, and locks it with a set of keys separate from the ones the Med Jack possesses. He trips on the way back.

Considering how Alby is _never _clumsy, Newt scoots toward the door out of curiosity, and finds something on the floor: a key wrapped in paper.

On it is a note in Alby's handwriting that reads:

_Deadheads after everyone's asleep._

Newt shoves it in his pocket as someone bangs on the door.

"You're gonna die!"

**A/N: Thank ya for reading, Shanks, and have an epic day/night!**

**Julia**


	6. Chapter 6: Glader Boys

**A/N: Thank you May a Chance for reviewing! :)**

Chapter 6

Glader Boys

People were outside the Slammer, and taunted the current resident for about twenty to twenty-five minutes before leaving.

Newt had to wait for two hours before Minho and Alby brought Thomas to the Slammer, both silent, and keeping as far away as possible.

Minho looked on the verge of talking, but simply walked away. Thomas was fully conscious now, and the only symptoms indicating he was ill were his pale complexion, and blood on his shirt.

"Do you remember anything before the Box?" Newt ventures to ask after several uncomfortable minutes of silence.

He scoots against the wall, staring at the Greenie facing him from the opposite side.

Thomas shakes his head tentatively.

"Not really. I remember…remembering something…but I don't know what."

"Really?" Now _that_ statement piques his interest.

"Then you do have a bit of your bloody memory?" Newt probes.

Thomas puts his head in his hands, trembling from his weak muscles.

"No…not exactly. I just know I did—know something. TG Virus."

"TG?"

"That's the only thing I know. It represents _Thomas Greenie_."

Newt coughs in the middle of forming a reply, a tiny bit of warm blood trickling into his mouth. He spits the metal-tasting substance on the floor muttering a curse.

"That just sounds bloody great."

"Mm-hmm. I must be…come on."

Thomas sits up all the way, his body tense, and looks the blond up and down.

Newt crosses his arms, and furrows his brows. _What is the crazy shank doing? _He wonders.

"Actually, yeah. Some pieces of it are coming back." The Greenie appears to be in deep concentration, staring off into space.

"And?" Newt presses, hoping he is getting somewhere.

Thomas points at him. "I saw you. We're both Carriers."

Newt simply stares at the Greenie, not sure how much of the virus is screwing up his brain.

"You didn't just say you bloody knew me," he responds, voice laced with strong doubt.

"Why would I lie?" Thomas says, "Think about it for a minute before making any immediate decisions, okay?"

Newt coughs again, mind swirling with a dozen thoughts about the crazy shank in front of him. Is this guy even sane?

After several minutes of staring at the Greenie, Newt speaks up again, "What's all this klunk about Carriers?"

"You," Thomas points at the blond, and then himself, "and me. We both are infected, right?"

Newt nods, glad Minho isn't around to make a smart-aleck remark.

"We both can walk. We both just cough, and throw up blood."

_Just? _Newt thinks. "Yeah."

"We carry the disease, but it doesn't have the same effect on us as others. We're…immune."

Thomas sighs and then asks a question Newt wasn't expecting. "What is _klunk_?"

Newt chuckles, and suppresses another cough. "Ya know, excrement."

"What?"

"Human waste."

Thomas manages a "well, that's nice", and leans his aching head against the wall. "How did you get your limp, anyway?"

Newt shudders, not exactly wanting to tell this Greenie about climbing the wall, jumping off, and— "Grievers."

"Grievers?" the brunette repeats in a question.

Newt explains the slug-like creatures with spikes, blubber, and metal arms, their moans and clicks. The horror of someone creating a creature to impale a bunch of boys in a Maze dawns on Thomas as the blond guy speaks. Although harsh in his words, the Greenie can tell Newt is kind in his actions.

They shared descriptions of each other's looks, and they came up with height too. Thomas is about 5' 9'' and Newt is about 5' 10'', which was interesting to both boys. They spoke for hours to pass the time, but Newt had several coughing fits while Thomas puked a couple times. The coppery smell was almost unbearable.

Chuck brought some bread and water later on, and talked plenty. He eventually had to excuse himself to return to the rather unpleasant Slopper duties.

Then came the dreadful routine: eating, talking, coughing, talking, puking, coughing, talking and sleeping.

Thomas decided on a nap while Newt waited anxiously for bedtime.

Deadheads.

Minho's message.

Alby.

He couldn't get them off his mind until he was sure it was time. The doors had closed two hours ago, his cue.

He shakes a drowsy Thomas awake, and waits for the greenie to get his bearings.

"Listen to me," Newt whispers, "Follow me. I'm going to the Deadheads to meet a friend. If anything happens, don't go past the walls. It'll only mean we won't find your actual bloody body. The Grievers always come out at night. Everyone's asleep so don't make any noises. Do you understand?"

Thomas nods hesitantly while wiping his grimy mouth with the back of his hand. "How are you going to get out?"

Newt ignores the question, instead showing him by producing a key from his trouser pocket. He inserts it into the hole, and it unlocks with a reassuring click.

The boys both slip outside, and Newt locks it again in case someone happens to look that way. Several Gladers are curled up asleep near the Slammer.

Snores and distant clicks fill the night air, peaceful despite the horrors lurking in the Maze.

Newt and Thomas keep their distance, hoping the virus won't be transferred to anyone so easily. As they pass by the Homestead, they weave in and out among the other boys.

Newt turns to face Thomas just as strong fingers lash out, grabbing a hold of his ankle. The older boy hits the dirt, hands out to stop his fall as someone pulls him backward.

Newt kicks behind him and his foot connects with a skull. The impact is followed by a grunt as the blond gets on a knee.

He reaches for the knife in his deep pocket, but as his right hand grips the handle, another hand does also.

He twists as the assailant does, and he lands backwards again, this time onto a person. He wrestles to get the knife away while Thomas stares, unsure of what to do.

Something smacks against Newt's back, causing his grip on the weapon to slacken. The knife is snatched away just as Thomas dives for the assailant.

He stops.

The cold blade is pressed against Newt's skin, drawing a few drops of blood.

**A/N: I'm so sorry about not updating last week! I was given double the amount of school with three papers to write, three tests, and lots of other stuff. On Saturday I was at my kung fu class all day because of Chinese New Year, and then got home past 12:00. Sunday and Monday were both occupied too.**

**I did, however, read The Death Cure in one night, and I loved it until we hit page 250. The end showed Thomas being a coward of not telling Minho about killing their best friend. Poor Newt. :( After this story, I'm definitely going to write one about brining him back.**


	7. Chapter 7: What Deadheads Plan?

**A/N: Thank you May a Chance and AsgardianGrizzly for reviewing! :)**

**Sorry about this coming on Sunday. Many thanks to school, and searching for an opera to write a paper on. :P**

Chapter 7

What Deadheads Plan?

"Don't scream," a voice whispers in Newt's ear.

Thomas stands in front of the Gladers, unsure of what he _could_ do.

He can't remember ever dealing with such a delicate situation. That doesn't matter anymore. The greenie boy's eyes roll into the back of his head, and he hits the grass, unconscious.

The virus is responsible for the perfect distraction. Newt grabs the wrist holding the knife while elbowing his assailant. The other Glader falls backward with a grunt, momentarily stunned.

Newt twists the boy's arm behind his back, pushes up enough he forces him to drop the knife.

The blond kicks with his good leg, drives the heel into the other Glader's knee joint.

Crack!

This action forces the attacker to both knees and he stifles a scream. Newt picks up his knife, presses it against the guy's throat.

"Who are you?" he demands, leaving space for the teen to talk.

"Chris, the leader."

"Alby's the leader, in case you didn't bloody know, Shank. You better start talking."

Chris doesn't respond. "Do ya not have a shuck memory? Newt, you've been here for three months. Maybe the virus is really getting to ya."

"Why is everyone saying that?" Newt hisses. "I've been here for two bloody years! Shank, I think there's something shucked up in your brain. Ya know—"

Then it comes suddenly. Thanks to the virus again, Newt falls asleep mid-sentence, and flops on the grass.

Chris gets up and retrieves the knife he initially stole, and kicks the cute, British boy in the ribs.

"Shucks!" he hisses.

* * *

Newt opens his eyes groggily, and instantly remembers what happened: Chris. Thomas?

The blond realizes he is slung over someone's back, his head hanging down. Moonbeams illuminate the grass where drops of blood appear from somewhere ahead.

"He's a scrawny shank," someone whispers to his left.

"If he went in the Maze, a Griever wouldn't even want ta eat him. He's skin and bones," the Glader holding him whispers back.

Several soft chuckles fill the tranquil night air. They gradually cease, the only sounds being their footsteps crunching on the grass and their steady breaths.

Newt tries to suppress a cough forming in his throat. If he can play the unconscious game until the boy drops him, he might have a chance at making a break for the Deadheads.

Maybe.

Although in order to escape he'll need a good head start with his bad leg.

"Here we are," the boy in front announces, "Drop him. We're gonna tie him up. Hands first."

Newt shuts his eyes, bracing for the impact. That won't help his cough at all.

Newt hits the ground with a softened thud, forcing the cough out of him. No one seems to care that he's awake, so he stays limp as someone starts wrapping rope around his wrists.

He opens his eyes, and is instantly on his feet, tackling the nearest boy to the ground.

Newt punches him twice, bones cracking, snatches the knife. He pulls the other Glader to his feet, blade against the hostage's throat. In the back of his mind, he feels a sense of déjà vu from earlier.

"Don't come any closer," he says, "or I'll bloody kill him."

The other boys remain where they are, one of them clutching a machete.

"Drop your weapon." The Glader makes no move, and Newt punches his hostage in the stomach. "I said drop your bloody weapon, _right now_."

The brunette lowers it to the ground with obvious reluctance, eyes locked on the blonde's hand. Newt returns the stare, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded. White spots dance in his vision.

The boy he is holding onto grabs the blade with his bare fingers as his friend's machete touches the ground.

That's when things go crazy.

The brunette shoots back up, blade turned to face Newt. However, he can't get a clear strike. The hostage is wrestling for the knife with Newt, both pulling in opposite directions. T

he former is winning, despite the deep lacerations in his flesh. He then kicks the blonde's bad leg.

"Newt!" a voice yells from somewhere nearby.

Minho.

It looks like the Deadhead plan was just thrown to the Grievers.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, please review! :)**

**Julia**


	8. Chapter 8: Brawl

**A/N: Thank you May a Chance for reviewing, and thank you to anyone who has reveiwed, favorited, and followed!**

**So...the Griever ate the schedule. It gets old hearing the same old excuses, so I'm not going to bother you with them. Enjoy the chapter and please reveiw! :)**

**Julia**

Chapter 8

Brawl

It was a thud that woke him up. Something heavy hit the grass off to his left, jolting him awake out of a dream, a distant memory just out of his grasp.

Frustrated, Minho had tried to fall asleep again, to no avail. Something kept disturbing him, something that kept nagging the back of his head. Eventually, he had given up trying, and went to check the Slammer.

It was empty.

Newt and Thomas were absent after covering the entire area where the Gladers slept.

That's when aroused the entire Glade.

Now, torches have been lit all around, the residents scanning every corner. Minho had dropped off somewhere, but no one had noticed as they searched feverishly around the currently lively Glade.

Minho had suspected the disappearance somehow involved their missing leader. But he sneaks off to the Deadheads in place of Alby.

Newt isn't there.

Then Minho checks the Blood House. Nothing.

Next, he heads to the place where all the Runners get their weapons, and takes a machete and short knife.

_Just in case_, he assures himself.

Next comes searching a couple, recently constructed sheds. The first is locked, the second empty, but as he approaches the third, he finds someone. Thomas. The Greenie is bound and gagged on the floor, several long tools fallen on his back.

"Hey," Minho whispers, shaking Thomas by the shoulder.

If there really was a contagious virus, he already had it for sure.

"Hey, Greenie!" he hisses, "Wake up, Shuckface!"

The kid doesn't stir. Then Minho freezes, hand on the warm, sticky shoulder of the infected.

Gladers.

Voices.

Newt?

Without thinking, Minho approaches the next shed where torches are lit. He grips the machete handle tighter, fingers slicked with sweat.

His tactless self begins to jog toward the rather chaotic sounds of a brawl, or something.

He rounds the corner as a Glader grabs onto the blade of a knife held by none other than Newt. The former kicks his leg. Both wrestle for it, another boy shooting to his feet, machete held firmly at his side.

Minho doesn't know what's going. He only knows one thing: he won't let anyone hurt his friend.

"Newt!" he shouts impulsively.

The brunette yanks the knife away from Newt, blood running through his fingers, and throws it to the ground.

Then the boy with the machete bolts for the blond. Minho drops his blade, and jumps onto the attacking Glader's back.

In an instant, he has the boy on his back, cracking the guy's facial bones with clenched fists. Minho wouldn't kill a Glader, but he didn't mention anything about breaking limbs. He grabs the boy's forearm with both hands, twists it to the side in an upward motion.

Snap.

The Glader screams as the majority of the group turn their attention to Minho.

Newt, given the opportunity, picks up a fallen shovel from the shed. He swings up, and then down with a heavy motion. The end connects with the nearest boy's skull, sending a shudder through the wielder's arm.

Newt grits his teeth, swings the shovel at the next Glader, who catches the wood just above the spade. Newt flips the gardening tool the other way, the hilt hitting the other boy square in the face.

* * *

Minho lets go of the machete kid, kicks another Glader's shin. Then several bodies surround him, boys holding torches and sticks. Minho ducks, slamming his head into the closest one's stomach. Someone kicks _his _midsection as he whips around, someone else drawing the knife from his belt.

"Shucks!" he hisses, doubling over from the impact of a boot.

Newt appears behind the boy who kicked Minho, a heavy blow to the boy's neck. Snap. Minho straightens, kicks someone from behind, stomping on another one's foot. Only two more Gladers are left standing besides him and Newt.

* * *

Alby reaches the first shed, and hears the fight. He and a few other boys immediately head for the source. Once they reach the scene, they discover a group of Gladers sprawled on the floor.

"Get the Med-jacks!" Alby yells, getting on a knee to examine the leader, Chris.

The kid has a deep gash in his forehead down the center of his nose, and another in his calf. Dark blood seeps from the split wounds, pooling on the grass. "

What happened?"

Chris yelps when Alby touches him.

"Get your shucking hands off me!" he growls, and lowers his voice, "Get Newt, and that stupid shank, Minho. They're gonna pay for it. I'm takin' 'em to the Cliff if it's the last thing I do."

* * *

Newt almost drops the shovel, swearing under his breath. "Are you sure we're going the right way? The buggin' Deadheads ain't over here."

"Yeah, I think after living here for two years, I might know where the graveyard is," Minho snaps, passing his friend quickly.

"Will ya tell me what the bloody is going on here? Why's everybody acting so strange? And how did Alby get demoted over night? Chris…I've never even seen him! What about the Blood House business and the girl? And Gally?" Newt asks, spewing out everything on his mind.

"Whoa there, Newt. Give me a second to breathe, will ya?" Minho retorts, stopping and leaning against a tree.

"Okay, so ya know how I fell asleep a couple days ago and couldn't wake up, right?"

Newt nods. It worries him, the whole thing. To him, it was as if he had entered another Glade. "Yeah, and?"

"And I wasn't sleeping. I woke up here, in a different Glade," Minho says, mirroring Newt's thoughts, "We're in an alternate universe thingy."

He pauses to let it sink into the blonde's head.

To his great surprise, Newt doesn't respond. He nods contemplatively, but suddenly plops down on the grass of a tiny forest surrounding the two. The reaction befuddles Minho, yet he mimics his friend.

"We need to go back. Then you'll be free of the shucking virus, or else we're both going to die."

Newt nods again, coughing a little. He swallows back some of the metallic-tasting blood, which almost chokes him.

"Hey, Shanks!" someone whispers from behind Newt. Both boys turn to look for the source, panic setting in.

"If Chris's there, I'll give him more than a bloody face," Minho mutters as both shoot to their feet.

Newt grips the shovel tightly, his other hand on the Korean's shoulder to keep Minho from acting on impulse.

"Who's there?" Newt demands.

**A/N: I had to do that! XD It's hard to resist a cliffhanger of any sort!**

**Did I ever mention a really funny mistake Dashner made? Alby is African American, but the name given to him means white (not meaning to sound racist, because I love different nationalities anyway ;)) and it's for a girl! The author must not have looked up the meaning! XD**

**Thank you for reading, and have a Gladetastic day/night!**


	9. Chapter 9: No, You Are

**A/N: Thank you so much May a Chance and AsgardianGrizzly for reiviewing! This week we have a bonus chapter and digital brownies! [] [] [] [] []**

**Enjoy! :)**

Chapter 9

No, You Are

Newt rubs his sweaty hands against the shovel. Minho, keeping his dark eyes ahead at the cluster of tress, picks up a few rocks.

"Whoever's there, there's only one of you and two of us," he starts.

Newt shoots him a warning look.

"Ya know what? You're right Shuckface, but you wouldn't be expecting harm from a Glader, would ya? It's not like I'm a Griever," the voice says.

The pitch is higher than most, Newt notes.

"Well then come out and we can settle this like men," Minho chides, folding his arms.

"Well…I'm not a man, but okay."

From the bushes, a girl Newt saw earlier emerges dressed in jeans and a white blouse, curly, brown hair halfway down her thin biceps.

"You're seriously that scared o' me?" Emily teases, folding her arms to mimic Minho.

Newt relaxes his grip on the shovel, but remains wary of her.

"How much of our conversation did ya hear?" he asks.

"Most of it," she responds, almond eyes locked on Newt's.

"But I'm interested in helping you guys."

"Look, girl, we're not klunk heads. If ya say anything to the others, I swear I'll break your shuck neck," Minho threatens.

Newt gives him another look and then turns to the girl. "You know how to get us back?"

"Maybe. I come from somewhere else too, by the way."

"Oh?" Newt asks, the statement piquing his interest.

Minho steps between them.

"Don't listen to her!" he growls, "Then how come she hasn't left yet? She's got to be with Chris. They're all in here to kill us."

"Will you just shut yer hole?" Newt snaps, then lowers his voice, "Your right. She may be one of 'em, but what if she isn't? There has to be a way out. What if you get rid of our only chance? Will you please, please think for once?"

Minho huffs, stepping back to his original position.

"Look, we really need to go back to our Glade," Newt continues, "How do we get out?"

"You don't," Emily responds, "You have to either do the same thing that happened right before you came here, or…you die."

Newt grabs Minho's shoulder to prevent the Runner from punching her.

"You're not very amicable, but thanks anyway," he says, redirecting his friend in the opposite direction.

Once out of earshot, he leans in to whisper in a furious Korean boy's ear.

"Let's try the first option. I have a vague memory from a dream about something similar."

"What?" Minho asks.

"There was this man named—Richard Castle I think—and he went with his wife Beckett who was a detective to warehouse. Then a—"

"Okay, I get it," Minho interrupts, "Let's try it."

"I wasn't finished. We have a bloody problem with that," Newt says.

Minho rolls his eyes.

"This Glade apparently doesn't have too friendly residents. Ya think the leader's going to let us walk in after we beat the klunk out of him? I don't think so."

Minho groans.

"Thanks for that useful information, genius. Then what?"

Newt ignores the remark, instead leading his friend back the way they had come. "I'll talk to Alby. So, how'd you get here?"

Minho smirks at that.

* * *

Alby stands tensely at the bedside of a ferocious Chris, waiting for the answer that will determine Newt and Minho's fate. Although only knowing the kid for one month, he feels a strong attachment to the boy, his best friend in this hellish life.

"Have you decided?" he asks tersely.

Chris snaps his head around, glaring at Alby. He shifts the bandage on his face, cursing loudly.

The rest of the Keepers are outside, waiting as well, waiting for the signal.

"Newt shucking split my face open!" he spits, "Minho gets it, but we're not doing it to Newt. The Cliff is too good for that shank! We're taking him to the Beam."

Alby takes a step back. "You're going to kill him personally?"

"No," Chris says.

But his next sentence sends chills down Alby's spine.

"You are."

* * *

"Here it is," Newt whispers. "Wait for me outside."

He slaps Minho on the shoulder, and cracks open the new back door of the Homestead.

He stops, peering around it with a fair degree of caution. There's only that creepy picture of that woman in white.

Newt, satisfied, shuts the door quietly and begins his slow ascent up the mess of stairs.

His limp only gives slight hindrance as he moves, but doesn't keep him from silent steps. A few boards later, one groans beneath his weight.

He steps over it, as the front door below is jerked open. Newt ducks down, crouching close to the top of the final flight.

"It's not that hard to find two shanks around here, is it?" a voice snaps.

Gally.

Someone else's footsteps are below, right where Newt can see them beneath the cracks in the floorboard.

"No, but I really didn't them."

"Whatever, I'll talk to Chris," Gally says, crossing his thick arms.

Newt holds his breath, praying no one will hear or see him. His heartbeat pulses warmly in his ears, a sensation that brings fear.

And with fear comes the lack of self-control. To accompany his nerves, the blood starts to fill his mouth once again.

Why now, of all times?

Maybe the Creators are playing a joke on him. Maybe they want him dead. Maybe they're just laughing their butts off while playing with a bunch of buttons, watching him through a computer screen.

Blood starts to seep from the corners of his mouth, trickling down his already moist skin.

_Please don't let it drip on him_, Newt thinks.

That's exactly what happens.

Gally heads for the stairs, but stops short when his eyes lock on Newt's.

"He's here!" Gally shouts, racing eagerly for the steps.

Newt gives up all pretense of hiding, and turns, bolts up the stairs in a stuttering run, two Gladers on his heels. At the top is Alby his hands clenched tightly into fists, the boy standing rigid, erect. Newt's entire body floods with relief upon seeing his friend.

"I'm sorry, Newt," Alby says, looking at the blond with a sad expression written all over his face. Newt stares back, confused.

Then without warning, Alby pushes him off the stairs.

**A/N: Oh, gee! Did I just do treachery on Alby's part? Maybe. We'll see...**

**Has anyone else seen the show Castle? That's part of the idea in the plot. :) ****Thank you for reading and please review!**

**Julia**


	10. Chapter 10: The Pole

**A/N: Thank you so much AsgardianGrizzly and May a Chance for your reviews!**

**I finally squeezed enough time for another chapter! Yay! :D This one is dedicated to all who love to watch the cute boys of TMR beating each other and...other stuff.**

Chapter 10

The Pole

Bam!

A heavy impact emanates from inside the Homestead.

Minho pries the rear door open a crack. He peers through, only to see Newt sprawled on the bottom of the staircase, face down. The boy's limbs are thankfully not as twisted as he would expect.

Gally reaches the blond, eyes staring at ahead at someone or something else.

Minho pushes the door open a bit more and sees Alby descending the stairs at an awkwardly slow pace.

He appears scared.

"Did you kill him?" Gally hisses.

Alby's face pales, contorting, his expression appearing as if the whole thing is his fault. Minho leans in further to listen.

Gally checks Newt's pulse, frowning, thick brows furrowed. He shakes his head.

"Nope. He's still there…for now. Did Chris really tell you to kill him?"

Alby doesn't respond to the question. "Let's just take him outside. Chris is waiting for us."

Gally grabs Newt's skinny arms while Alby hauls him up by both legs.

In an instant, Minho has Gally's head between his hands, slamming the boy against the railing. His knee connects with the fellow Runner's stomach.

Gally returns a blow in the jaw. This boy from the alternate universe is definitely stronger than the Builder version.

Alby instinctively had prevented Newt's head from hitting the hard wood, and he rushes over to prevent the escalating fight.

He grabs a hold of the back of a cursing, kicking Minho's shirt, prying him off a screeching, punching Gally. However, he can't hold either one back.

Minho breaks free as Gally throws another punch from the side. The former side steps, grabs the arm with both hands. Minho redirects Gally, using his momentum to push him into Alby.

The two hit the floor with a smack.

Baggers rush into the room, followed by the kid who had been with Gally. They quickly overcome the fuming Keeper of the Runners with their numbers with several bruises and broken ribs as a price.

"Minho, if this is how it's going to end, you haven't disappointed me," Alby says, spitting blood on the floor.

"Take him and…Newt outside to The Pole."

"No! How could you do this to him?" Minho growls spit flying from his mouth, "Traitor! Alby, I'm gonna shucking kill you! You hear me? Even if I die and become a ghost, I'm gonna kill you!"

As the Baggers haul him out and are shutting the door he says one last thing.

"Remember what you did to your friends."

* * *

Newt could only remember Alby staring at him from the top of the staircase, and voices—lots of voices. Then he could sense movement on either side of him. His mind wasn't computing anything, except that lone image of his friend pushing him.

He didn't even remember hitting the stairs, or Gally fighting with Minho, or him being dragged outside. He sensed people around him, speaking, but he couldn't catch what was going on.

Whatever it was didn't sound good. He finally gathers enough strength to open his eyes.

And he wishes he hadn't.

The first thing he notices is his wrists are bound in front, tied above his head to a makeshift arch lashed with many vines. His arms burn from hanging limp for who knows how long, and he tries to stand upright.

But once he puts pressure on his left ankle, he instantly drops the thought.

It looks like his good leg is sprained.

The next thing he notices is Minho twenty feet across from him, bound to a metal pole with a flag above. He's conscious with a few purple bruises, but nothing serious.

Then putrid breath hits his nostrils, causing a wave of nausea to strike him. Gally.

Newt twists his head to get a good look at the alternate guy, a strong Runner with a bloody nose.

_It was probably from Minho_, Newt thinks.

"You're awake," Gally comments, getting in front of the blond. "How'd you sleep?"

Newt mimics the boy's smile of mockery.

"Very well. You didn't considering how bloody ugly you turned out to be."

At the comment, Gally punches Newt's cheek. The older boy's head snaps to the side, but he returns to the original position defiantly.

The Runner grabs Newt's chin, bringing him only inches away from his face.

"You shouldn't have done that, Shuckface."

He then lowers his voice to a whisper, "Play along if you want to live."

Newt barely has time to hide his surprise before Alby steps into the scene, face grim, hands clutching a vine rope and a whip.

"It's time," he says, voice faint.

Another blond with a bandage on his smug face and a cane yells at him.

"Hurry up, Slinthead! We ain't got all day! Jack's cooking and I don't want to be late!"

"Yeah guys, your majesty is starving. We must promptly execute the useless eaters," Minho responds sarcastically.

He earns laughs from some of the boys, and a fist to the gut by another.

"I'm waiting," Chris says, impatiently tapping on his cane.

Gally steps aside, allowing Alby adequate room to slip the vine around Newt's neck.

He ties it into a noose, tightens it. He pulls to test how secure it is; then begins lashing it to the top of the arch.

Fear trickles down Newt's spine, mixed with hope.

Hope that he wouldn't be killed.

"Ya know what, give that to me!" Chris snaps, snatching the vine and whip from Alby. "You're such a sissy!"

His icy blue eyes lock on Newt's dark brown ones, his cold, without remorse.

His hand draws back, lashes out with the whip snapping out like a serpent.

Newt shuts his eyes, waiting for the rocky ends to dig into his flesh, drowning out Minho's screams.

Then something unexpected happens.

**A/N: Yes, another cliffhanger! But let's just say this turned out very different than I had planned. This is so fun to write, I'm definitely going to keep at this one! :)**

**Thank you for reading and please review! You make the stories all the more fun!**

**Julia**


	11. Chapter 11: Glader Chaos

**A/N: Thank you so much Chobrowny, AsgardianGrizzly, and May a Chance for your awesome reviews! :D**

**Now, I hereby remind you all once more: the character(s) who die will be in the story still because they will be alive in the alternate universe, so it's not the end of him (there are no girls really, so...). You have been warned that this chapter contains character death. However, he will be back...later.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 11

Glader Chaos

Chris stops mid-strike, arm taut, straight in the air. The whip falls, hanging limply in his pale, trembling hand. Newt opens his eyes, gaping at the leader as something gargles in the boy's throat.

Then it comes.

He drops the whip as he doubles over, clutching his stomach. Blood sprays from his mouth onto Newt and all over the crushed grass.

"Chris!" one of the Gladers yelps. The others are instantly at his side, smothering him with questions.

"Shut your holes!" Chris screeches through the blood, causing everyone to back off.

He turns to Newt, eyes burning with rage. "You! This is your entire shucking fault! What did you _do_?"

"Chris, what are you talking about?" Gally demands, crossing his arms.

"We're all gonna die because of you!" the blue eyed boy growls, cracking the whip like a thunderbolt. "All of us are gonna _die_! Do you hear me? He's going to kill all of us! Where's Thomas Bring that shuck Greenie here!"

Chris coughs violently on the metallic tasting blood before he can upright himself to give Newt a hard slap. The blond doesn't even flinch, staring right into the leader's eyes. "The Creators did it," Newt responds flatly. "I don't want to bloody die either. They sent us to make a cure for the TG virus."

Chris licks his lips. "A cure? Like what?"

"Maybe it's in the shank's blood," someone comments.

"Blood?" another Glader suggests.

"Or we find an immune shank and use his," someone else adds.

At that moment, three boys haul a barely conscious Thomas onto the field between the pole and the arch. His dark, glossy eyes stare ahead, fixed on some point in the distance no one else can see. They roll into the back of his head.

Newt watches in horror as the three Alternate Gladers drop him roughly to the ground. One kicks his ribcage, probably a strong follower of his wonderful leader. One draws a knife from his belt.

It flashes in the sunlight, falling on the greenie's deathly pale face. Suddenly Thomas is fully awake, a scream caught in his bloody throat.

"No!" Newt screeches, tearing at his bonds frantically.

They wouldn't kill him, would they?

The blond finds the ropes loose and yanks. He slips free of them, hitting the grass with a light thud, and pushes himself to his elbows, about to attempt to stand, to stop them from stabbing the boy.

But it was too late.

The Glader brings the knife down, plunging it deep, deep into Thomas's stomach. Bile empties out of it into the poor boy's body, into his organs to poison them. Red pooled out of the wound.

The Glader withdrew the knife, slit his victim's throat mercilessly. Newt couldn't look away from those eyes, those unseeing eyes that stared up at the sky.

The boy was dead. He died that quickly, and it was his fault for convincing Thomas to go.

It was _his_ fault.

No.

It was the Creators who did it to him.

It was Chris who hurt Tommy, his friend, who was bound to die anyway. But he died at such a young age. Newt freezes, paralyzed for a split second. And then he pushes himself to a knee, ankle throbbing, but he ignores it. "You killed him," Newt whispers, eyes locking on Chris.

"You killed him!"

Newt lunges for the leader, screaming at the top of his lungs. He can't tell what he was doing, can't see the older boy squirming to get away from him as he squeezed someone's bloody throat. Wet. Everything is wet and hot and dark red. He tightens his grip on the boy, leaning forward, the pressure of his hands combined with his weight against Chris's windpipe.

A Glader next to Minho cuts the binds off him. In an instant, different boys fighting disrupt the Glade's peaceful silence. Some are on Newt and Minho's side yet others are on Chris's. Minho uses the opportunity to avoid the conflicting groups and make his way to Newt's side.

Then he sees his friend strangling another kid. He latches onto Newt's wrist, attempting to pry the fuming blond off. Why was he like this? He never lost it, no matter what, but why now? "Newt, we've got to go!" Minho yells over the chaos. His friend ignores him, the words passing right by his head.

"Newt! We—"

Before Minho can finish, a hand clutching a rock appears, slamming against the back of his head. He lets go of the blond, falling onto his hands and knees, warm, thick blood already coagulating from the fresh wound. That snaps Newt out of it. He releases a barely conscious Chris and punches the assailant's ribcage; then grabs hold of the boy's wrist.

Twist.

Snap.

The Glader screams, dropping the rock. Newt catches it with ease while pulling Minho to his feet and sees it. Gally and Alby are leading a rebellion against Chris, boys fighting with anything: rocks, shovels, sticks, or anything available. Newt drops the stone, putting Minho's arm over his neck, around his shoulder.

But he is forced to his knees from the pain in his ankle, involuntarily releasing his friend in the process. Gally sees them. The Runner slams the blunt end of his spear against a boy's skull, whips around, bolting in their direction.

A shovel comes from the side. He blocks it and flips it the other way, hitting someone's groin. After two more Gladers, he reaches the two.

Newt has gotten Minho back up partway, his face contorted, struggling to put pressure on one foot. _Bloody ankle!_ He thinks. Gally hauls Minho up, bringing Newt at an awkward position on both feet, slightly twisted.

Then they both see the Maze doors start to open.

**A/N: Yes, I wasn't able to do as sad of a character death, but to any Thomas fans, he will be back.**

**Julia**


	12. Chapter 12: In the Maze

**A/N: Thank you May a Chance and AsgardianGrizzly for reviewing!**

**Happy late Easter! Unfortunately, there was WAY too much school last week for an update-I had to write several papers on Sunday and had tons of tests, four times more than usual-but the semester will be over in about four weeks. Halleluja! :D ****Enjoy! Disclaimer: I do not own TMR or sadly Newt! XD**

**Casey Aldrich (changed author's name)**

Chapter 12

In the Maze

Newt looks at the passing guard, head held high, spear in both tanned hands, tooth necklace bouncing up and down on his bony chest.

The man appears to be around Newt's age—his early twenties—and he holds onto a leather bag containing the captives' shirts.

Newt shifts his weight around, his wrists slipping right out of the bonds.

He hits the dirt, reflexively landing on both elbows and knees.

Then his ears pulse.

He pushes himself to his feet, instinctively reaching for the nearest potential weapon. His fingers find and grip a large rock from a wooden bucket by Minho's feet.

The guard whips around face the prisoner, black eyes locking on Newt's brown ones.

Then the man charges, teeth bared, spear out to face the captive.

He thrusts the sharp end forward, aimed at the stomach.

Newt sidesteps with surprising fluidity, just enough the spearhead misses him. He slams the rock against the guard's skull.

The impact produces a dull thud along with a crack, and the Glader crumples to the ground. His limbs flop and then go limp like a slapped fish, mouth open.

Dead.

Dark blood gushes from a wide gash in his scalp, soaking matted, black hair of the person who used to reside in there. N

o soul rests in the shell of a man anymore. His eyes are open, staring at nothing, head twisted to the left at an awkward angle.

The spear impaled his foot during the fall.

Newt drops the rock, swiping the leather bag and knife from the fresh corpse.

He starts with Minho's bonds, easily sawing them apart.

**Happy late April Fools! ;) I couldn't resist, so I put part of my other writing in there. The clue was that Newt is not in his twenties! XD**

* * *

Gally knows it's the only place they can go. There is no other way out of the mess of conflicting Gladers.

Griever or no Griever, that's where they're going.

At that moment, a machete swipes at Minho's head.

The Keeper's eyes snap open as he pushes the others back, the blade narrowly missing his scalp. Minho recovers himself, kicking up dirt at the taller Glader.

It gets into his assailant's eyes, allowing him to come in, snatch the weapon, and stab the boy's thigh.

"Where now?" he asks, blocking another machete.

Gally transfers his blade to his other hand, pulling out a knife from his belt.

He shoves it in Newt's hand.

"It looks like the bloody Maze is up on the list," the blond says bitterly.

Gally and Minho nod. The trio slip through an empty space amongst the frenzied chaos.

Someone takes a slice at Newt's worse leg.

The latter dodges, returning the blow with a whack to the skull with the knife hilt.

Staring ahead, the boys bolt for the Maze where the doors are sluggishly sliding open from their connecting rods.

Beyond it, Newt can only see vines and stone, nothing else.

He grabs Alby from the side, ignoring the pain in his throbbing ankles.

Once past the doors, he makes a sharp turn to the left.

"Do you know the way?" Gally asks as he, Alby, and Minho promptly follow.

"I used to be a bloody Runner," Newt answers, forgetting that this is the alternate Gally.

"Since when?"

Newt remembers suddenly and decides to let the question drop. He makes five more turns left, and one right.

_Click_. _Click_. _Whirrr_.

The boys suddenly dive to a corner, stiffening like boards.

Newt, mouth open, holding his breath, peers around the corner.

A pretty, little Griever is rolling toward them.

**A/N: Yay! A Griever has come to eat our beloved Glader boys. Sorry the chapter's so short, for there is a minor case of...writer's block-ish?**

**I am going to from now on be recommending one FF author and fic on the bottom of every chapter-let me know if I forget, because I do often. :P**

**First off this update is AsgardianGrizzly's A World We Never Wanted-a zombie AU. :)**


	13. Chapter 13: Subjects

**A/N: I am so, so, so SORRY for not updating! I've dedicated over ten hours to a research paper, had tons of final exams, papers, quizzes, and the like. Not only that, I was punished for a week from the computer. Writers block has just ended and I will be continuing this fic.**

**Thank you to any who reviewed! Let's get trucking on the bloody story! Can anyone see the Teresa reference in this chapter?**

**I saw The Scorch Trials trailer! It looks awesome even if different and Newt is still looking hot as always! :D**

Chapter 13

Subjects

The unfriendly glow of the overhead lights illuminates the bald spot on Janson's head.

His mouth twitches as he sets his folder on the white table.

Lifeless eyes lock on his from the other seat, the most important members of WICKED waiting expectantly from their holograms.

The only absent person is Chancellor Paige—strangely the most important.

Janson clears his mucus-lined throat and pushes the file toward the center.

He opens its contents and reads a paper in his raspy voice.

"It is unfortunate that the most suitable candidate has been killed—the subjects have escalated at an alarming rate. However, TG has been successful despite a low mortality rate. I propose we send a few disposable subjects to the Maze in order to spread the virus to get the appropriate results.

"Subject A5 will go through the next variable: Subject C1. Subjects A1, A5, and A66 have been infected so far. The exposure is insufficient. Yes, more innocent lives will be sacrificed for the greater good. But remember, we are saving mankind. WICKED is good."

Janson is about to retrieve the file when he goes into a violent coughing fit.

His entire body twitches, something clawing its way up his throat.

He falls out of his chair and retches.

The white tile suddenly gains red splotches to add a darker color in contrast.

No!

He can't get the virus—why him? Maybe it's nothing.

It _is_ nothing, Janson reassures himself as he swallows some of the metallic-tasting blood.

He retches again as he feebly clutches the table for support.

Whispers fill the sterilized room.

One of the WICKED representatives adjusts his spectacles and then smiles.

"I see we have our next TG Variable."

The others nod in agreement.

WICKED

Newt releases a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

The pulsing blood in his ears drowns out Gally's frantic whispers, legs completely numb.

The Griever is gone. He keeps his back pressed against the wall, not daring to move.

The Creators may have sent a trap.

Maybe the Griever is waiting for him just around the corner.

Maybe it's…

A sweaty hand latches onto Newt's arm, snapping him out of it.

"It's gone," Minho whispers.

Newt nods feverishly.

"Now what?" Alby throws both arms up in frustration.

"We're stuck in the shuck Maze with Gladers tryin' ta poke us with spears."

He puts his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Newt. Chris—"

"I know," Newt responds quickly. "He made you do it."

"But—"

Gally covers Alby's mouth, waving his other hand at Newt and Minho.

The three boys give him a confused look, but freeze as the echo reaches their ears.

Boots thump on the stone floor.

Advancing.

A voice.

It's too high to be a man.

"Newt? Newt, are you there? It's me."

Newt starts to peer around the corner, but Minho pulls him back.

The Asian boy goes first, brandishing his machete in order to scare off the intruder.

Newt follows with his knife drawn, the others on his heels.

He stumbles on his freshly throbbing ankle as Alby's hot body hits him from behind.

With a painful twist, he lands at an angle where his right shoulder connects with the floor and his head smacks into Minho's leg.

Both greet the hard stone.

Gally and Alby help them up. In any other circumstance, they'd be laughing their butts off.

Now they notice the intruder, or rather, the variable.

The girl.

But she appears harmless.

"Why are you here?" Minho demands, getting in the girl's face.

She's a little taller than he, the same height as Newt. Her hands are folded, expression soft accompanied with a non-threatening demeanor.

"The Creators sent me," she responds calmly.

Newt blinks and Minho is suddenly gripping her wrist and dragging her to the nearest wall.

He turns her, slams her back against the wall.

"Who are they? Why did they send you?" he growls.

Gally and Alby are instantly at his side.

Newt stands at a distance, doing occasional sweeps of the Maze.

He half listens to the conversation while straining to hear any noises that indicate Grievers are near.

"I don't know," Emily says, not struggling.

"I woke up here with a note in my hand. I can't remember anything else."

Minho takes a piece of paper from her hand.

He reads it aloud, each word sending chills down Newt's spine, "The Creators have sent this to help stop the spread of the virus. Take it or leave it."

"What are those shanks talking about?" Gally asks, folding his arms.

Emily digs into her deep pocket, producing a syringe.

"I found this in my pocket when I woke up."

Minho eyes the blue liquid with suspicion, holding it between thumb and forefinger.

Newt stares.

He slumps on the floor thanks to his throbbing ankle as Alby gets in Emily's face.

"You expect us to believe this—that you don't know what's going on?" he hisses, jaw clenched.

His limbs go taut, fists clenched, muscles tensed. He lashes out, grabs her by the throat with sudden aggression.

"Where are we and who sent you?"

Newt pushes himself off the ground and limps to where Alby is. He puts a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Slim it, Alby," he says in a soft voice, "She might be the same as all of us—lost. There's nothing The Creators won't do, as far as we know. We have Grievers. Why not this?"

The fire in Alby's eyes only burns brighter.

"Then tell me, Newt. Why a girl? We haven't had anything but boys for two shucking years. Why all of a sudden when things get weird, she shows up?"

The more agreeable Gally backs Alby up.

"He has a point. Things are weird. We need to suspect everything and every_one._"

He points at the girl. "You're not getting off the hook so easily."

Newt nods in agreement.

"Let's keep her for questioning. But we don't need to act like barbarians like the other Gladers. Tie her up. Don't choke her to death before she can talk."

"We're not incompetent sissies. Why should we be scared of her?" Alby spits, dropping her on the stone floor.

"Shuckface. She has two bloody legs she can run on."

Gally and Minho nod.

Alby just snorts.

Minho uses the machete to cut several lengthy vines for her bonds. Gally watches Emily while Alby helps Newt down and examines his ankle.

"How is it?" Gally asks, taking a quick peek over the older boy's broad shoulder.

"This one," Alby points to Newt's originally injured ankle, "Is the same as it always has? It's been set wrong. The other one is twisted the wrong way. To sum it up, he's…"

"Shucked," Newt finishes, wincing from the pain. He sighs, leaning his aching back against the wall.

It's gonna be one hell of a night.

**A/N: Thank you so much for your patience and for reading! Please review for my week's hapiness! :)**

**Casey**


	14. Chapter 14: AU

**Thank you May a Chance for revieiwing! Here's the final chapter! :)**

Chapter 14

AU Travelers

The Gladers press around the Box, each boy curious and confused. One of them, a large kid with a thick Scottish accent and darks curls spoke up. "Who the shuck are you?"

A shaking, emaciated frame shrinks into the darkest corner of the Box. Black hair neatly combed back, white, sweat soaked attire hanging off skin and bones, a bent, old man curses at them. Someone nods to the large boy. "Go on, Dan. I don't think he klunked his pants yet." He earns a few snickers from the nearest boys.

Dan swears and lowers the rope. "Take it or leave it, Shank. We don't need another Slopper just yet." The old man held out a crumpled note in his right fist, which Dan took without hesitation. Things were bad enough; they needed to know everything possible about what was going on. He spread it on the ground and read it silently:

_Subject from Experiment A_

_Failed_

_Group A Terminated_

WICKED

Minho leans close to Newt and whispers, hot breaths moistening his ear, "You know what? I think we need ta take the girl's suggestion."

Newt rolls away from him, his shivering body curling up into a ball. Dusk has arrived. The Maze isn't just a looming trap anymore. It's a cold graveyard for the hopeless Gladers that pretend to sleep—the boys listening to distant Grievers approach and wander among the various walls.

Newt and Minho told Gally and Alby everything about the alternate universe travel. They took it well, but kept their opinions reserved. The small group huddles together by the ivy-covered wall for warmth, the prisoner a few feet away. Alby watches her carefully.

Minho pushes Newt. "Well?"

"I ain't gonna bloody kill myself again."

"Again?"

Newt gritted his teeth. He'd slipped up big time. Minho wasn't supposed to know he tried to jump off the wall and end it all. He was sick of living there for years. Sick of running through an endless Maze. Sick of everything.

He ventures to respond after a few minutes of silence. "Yeah. Remember when Alby brought me out of the Maze?"

Minho nods. "When you hurt your leg?"

"Mm-hmm. Well, I…" Newt pauses and inhales deeply, "I just-I…"

Gally rolls over to face him. "Yeah?"

"I climbed up the bloody wall and jumped."

"What?" the other Gladers exclaimed in unison.

Minho pushed his arm. "Why?"

"I couldn't take being there anymore—shucks." Newt shoots to a sitting position, pointing wildly at something. The three follow his fingers. "What the—"

The Maze doors started to slide open, each connecting rod retracting from its hold. It's still dark. But when Newt takes one glance at the sky, the stars vanish and the world is bathed in a grey light. It resembles a cloudless dusk. His heart sinks. Then confusion overtakes him like a heavy cloud of doom. Are they in a room? Newt coughs and hacks up more blood. It runs down is pale, bruised face, dipping onto the floor. He watches it seep through the cracks in the stone. The last thing he sees is a group of boys running through the Maze. Then an explosion rocked the world.

WICKED

**Six Days Later…**

Newt had woken up in the Homestead with a minor head injury, but he couldn't remember what happened. Neither did Minho. Both went about to their normal lives in the Glade—the place they called home. They'd successfully returned to their dimension. Everything was the same until a particular Greenie appeared in the Box. His name was Thomas.

**A/N: I was going to do several more chapters for a good ending, but none of this story has turned out the way I wanted. I'm going to continue Tommy, I'm not Dead and write Ninjago stories. I'll keep writing for both fandoms.**


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